Hey Stargate fans! I will be taking part in the Tweet storm tomorrow (Tuesday 6/16) at 10:30am PT/ 1:30pm ET) #SaveStargate I signed the petition! change.org/p/save-stargate-w… Thanks @rachel_luttrell for the shoutout and alert. I will be here for it! 👍🏼

Everyone sign this petition so @MichaelShanks will stop spamming my timeline! :-) Seriously, Stargate was one of the best SciFi franchises on television. And one of the most successful, running from 1997 to 2011. You can watch 1 ep/day for a year and not finish the main season.

I will be here tomorrow for #SaveStargate tweet storm ⛈️ I have been digging through all my old photos and found a ton! 💙 To sign the petition ✍️👉 change.org/p/save-stargate-w…

“Dedicated Fanbase” #SaveStargate

That crossbar has been hit thrice. I think that goal is cursed.

No matter what happens. Come what may. I am so F….n proud of this fandom and how you all have come together. Stargate fans really are the best ❤️❤️❤️❤️ #Stargate

Netherlands vs Japan has been fantastic!

Can I be a Goa'uld?!😊 I don't think i'm evil enough for that though... haha! #SaveStargate @AmazonMGMStudio

If Curaçao has 5,000 fans at this game, that is about 3% of their population. That's insane! #FIFAWorldCup

Curaçao scored on Germany! I love this sport!

Week 3 in the Psalms brings us to Psalm 100 and shows us how we should respond to God. thewordkeeper.com/posts/the-…

USA. A BBQ restaurant. The ribs had not yet been defeated, and the white cup was already watching me. Coleslaw. Cold. Quiet. Suspiciously calm. I stopped my friend. “Why is there a small bowl of snow next to the meat?” He laughed. “That’s coleslaw, man.” Coleslaw. In my land, cabbage knows its role. It stays with tonkatsu. It supports fried food with quiet dignity. It does not sit next to a mountain of ribs like a tiny cold monk trying to stop a war. Here, America placed cabbage beside smoke, sugar, sauce, and meat. This is not a side dish. This is a peacekeeping force. I ate the ribs with the gravity the moment deserved. My fingers became evidence. My mouth became a battlefield. The sauce had entered negotiations without permission. And then — I must report this calmly — I ate the coleslaw. Cold. Crunchy. Calm. For three seconds, the war stopped. “See?” my friend said. “It balances it out.” Balances it out. The ribs were attacking from the front, the sauce was climbing my hands, and this little white cup was holding the line. My friend warned me. “Don’t ignore the slaw.” Too late. I had already judged it as decoration. Honor demanded an apology. A man who underestimates cabbage has already lost once. By the time the plate was empty, I understood. I was not clean. I was not elegant. But I had survived. BBQ is not just meat. BBQ is conflict management. I know the rule now. I have made my peace with coleslaw. When the ribs shout, the cabbage listens. Who am I deceiving. I came for the meat, but I still remember the little cold monk.

THE PASSING IN THE USMNT BUILDUP TO THE GIO REYNA BANGER. Beautiful 🇺🇸🔥

USA. A breakfast counter. The waitress recommended the biscuits and gravy, and when the plate arrived, I thought something had gone wrong in the kitchen. I say this with shame. The dish looked like a construction site after rain. Pale mounds. Gray ladle-fall. Speckles I could not identify. In my land, the eye eats first. A meal is arranged like a garden. This meal was arranged like weather. "Is it… finished?" I asked, carefully. "Honey, that's what it looks like." The man beside me was already eating his. He did not look up. "Just try it." I am a man who has charged hillsides at dawn. I raised the fork. I tried it. I must now formally apologize to the biscuits, the gravy, the waitress, the kitchen, and the entire breakfast tradition of the American South. It was magnificent. Warm. Peppered. The biscuit drank the gravy the way a field drinks rain — THAT is why it is shaped like that, you fool — and every mound I had insulted was a soft fold of comfort that my homeland, in eight hundred years, never once thought to invent. "Well?" the waitress asked. "I judged it," I confessed. "By its appearance. I am ashamed." "Everybody does, hon." Everybody does. A national dish that forgives you for doubting it. It expects the doubt. It waits for you on the other side of it. Do not judge the gravy by its face. Judge yourself, for hesitating. I order it every Saturday now. I no longer see the construction site. I see only the garden. It was a garden the whole time. The eye must be trained.

Don't tell me "Poch doesn't care." This whole team cares, him included. Also, it's awesome to see the whole team celebrate with Gio. They know he belongs.